A love letter of sorts, from me to J

Jeffrey and I lie in bed, curled up next to each other, his feet resting firmly on my [not firm] tummy. Early morning light trickles in through the windows, and Tyler has just left for work. Jeffrey's big brown eyes are gazing at me, and he begins stroking my face with abrupt, spastic strokes. I cut his fingernails yesterday, so I'm not particularly afraid he will claw my eye out with his semi-dexterous movements. He moves on to my shoulders, running his little hands over them, grasping the hair that peeks over the edge of my neck and entwining his fingers in it. We make eye contact again and he grins his wife toothless grin. I raise my hand in front of his face, and he looks at it and reaches his tiny hand to meet mine, curling his fingers around mine, playing with my ring. 

"Jeffrey, I love you." 

And he loves me. He can't say it, but he shows it with his adoring looks and soft, sometimes gentle, (sometimes not!) touches. 

I was prepared to love him. I was prepared for him to love me. 

I wasn't prepared for the love to be this deep. For it to ache in my heart when I see my baby. I wasn't prepared for the fact that I'm the center of Jeffrey's little universe. (Being someone's sole source of food will give you that particular status, by the way.) 

And despite not being really prepared for the enormity of this mother-son bond, I'm embracing it, because it's wonderful. I'm not ashamed of missing him for the four hours at the beginning of the night when he's in his crib beside our bed. I'm okay with the eagerness that I feel when he cries at midnight and I tuck him in beside me and his daddy. He snuggles up to daddy first, so tightly wedged against his back that Tyler can't move an inch. Then, as the night wears on, he scooches closer to me, nuzzling me as if to say "I love daddy, but umm, hey, wanna feed me?" 

These days are so precious. Who needs uninterrupted sleep when they've got a baby as sweet as ours?? 

Perfection

After one of Jeffrey's middle-of-the-night feedings, I tucked him in beside Tyler and slipped out of bed to use the bathroom. When I returned, Jeffrey was wrapped in Tyler's arms, and J squeaked in protest as my weight shifted the mattress. He clutched his little rabbit he sleeps with tightly to himself, and burrowed deeper into his daddy's strong arms. As I settled in beside them, my heart was tight in my throat with gratitude for this sweet life I've been given. 

It wasn't all that long ago that we thought we wouldn't be able to have a baby. We were prepared for years and years to pass before we could afford adoption. And now, our little baby is kicking us (hard) and nestling in between us every single night. We often look at each other and say "did you think it would be this good? Did you think it would be this special?" 

I imagined it would be good. I imagined it would be special. But I had no comprehension for how amazing our life with Jeffrey would be. We are so blessed. 

Here's to You, Normal Life.

Y'all, I can hardly believe I'm about to start this again. I haven't written consistently for a blog since before I went to Ethiopia, so it's certainly been a long time.

However, during the long stretches of the night, struggling to keep my eyes open long enough to let my sweet, needy little piglet nurse his fill, I inexplicably find myself writing narratives in my head, just like I used to. The words come easily to me during those hours, and I am going to see about snatching them off the invisible and therefore forgettable pages of my mind's notebook, (that particular notebook is so convenient yet so darn impractical, after all,) and putting them down here. For you. Well, mostly for me, (and my mama,) but you are welcome to read along with us!

I can't make any promises about content, but I will venture that it'll be a conglomeration of motherhood stories, recipes you HAVE TO TRY RIGHT THIS MINUTE, and little sketches of the daily, commonplace life I'm finding so dear these days. I guess, in fact, that you could call this blog a love letter from me to the normal. And since I stopped twice just while writing this short paragraph, once to change a diaper, (managing during that simple process to get poop on both my hands and in J's hair, not to mention his onesie and the sheets,) and once to just kiss my giggling baby for ten minutes straight, I think it's a pretty safe bet that the blog posts won't be prolific or aspirational. At all.

And now he's pooped again. Does he not know how much diapers cost?! Why is he looking at me over his paci rim with a smug expression of triumph? And finally, why on earth do I feel the urge to stop and kiss his plump, smug cheeks for another ten minutes straight? Oh right. Because I'm his mama, and he's the sweetest baby in the world.


Normal day, let me be aware
of the treasure that you are.
let me learn from you, love you,
bless you before we depart.
Let me not pass you by in quest
of some rare and perfect tomorrow.
let me hold you while I may,
for it may not be always so. one day
I shall dig my nails into the earth,
or bury my face in the pillow,
or stretch myself taunt,
or raise my hands
to the sky and want, more
than all the world, your return.
-Mary Jean Irion







P.S. (and this is mostly for mama) I do promise not to enhance, color, or otherwise tweak my stories for the sake of dramatic or humorous appeal. Ahem.